


Laundry Day

by the_genderman



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, Domestic Fluff, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, accidental parkour, but don't worry Steve will be fine eventually, but like without the serum he's just a big dude because it's funnier that way, hurt as in physical pain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-22
Updated: 2019-02-22
Packaged: 2019-11-02 02:14:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17879180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_genderman/pseuds/the_genderman
Summary: No-powers college AU. It turns out the combination of cabin fever and procrastinating laundry is a bad combination for Steve.





	Laundry Day

**Author's Note:**

> I know I’m bad about responding to comments, but I really do appreciate y’all.

As Steve lost traction, he remembered a little too late: oh yeah, he and his housemates had instituted the ‘no socks in the basement’ rule for a very good reason. He hit the floor, flat on his back, with a heavy thud. Given the sudden radiating pain in his right shoulder, he was pretty sure he’d separated it, dislocated it, broken it, sprained it, or at the very least, given it a pretty serious bruise. He groaned, both from pain and from embarrassment. On one hand, at least no one else was home to have heard the crash and to find him lying on the basement floor, naked except for socks, but on the other hand, no one else was home to have heard the crash to come check on him. Bucky and Natasha were spending the weekend with the extended Barnes family, and Sam was currently at the library grading papers for his TA job; he’d always said he focused better on grading if he didn’t have his phone on or any of his stuff out to distract him at home. Steve wasn’t sure when he’d be back. Before dinner, for sure, but dinner was still a couple hours away.

Steve blamed the rain. It had been raining practically non-stop for two weeks, from light spring drizzle, the kind of mist that soaks into your skin and makes you feel like you’ll just have to be cold forever, to full-on downpour, where the students sprinted across campus clutching homework wrapped in Target bags or any waterproof thing they could find. His clothes sat in the dryer, delightfully, tantalizingly warm and dry, just out of his reach. It was this godawful rain that had gotten him into this predicament in the first place. He and Sam hadn’t been able to get out for a proper parkour session, run, jog, _anything_ really, since the rain started, and he was learning the hard way now how much of an issue that could be.

Between the rain and classes and studio and homework, Steve hadn’t been able to get his excess energy out properly, and apparently that was a bigger problem than he had realized. He had finished up his early Saturday morning studio time, accidentally broken his old umbrella trying to get it open, and decided, eh, screw it, it’s not _that_ heavy, and just jogged his way back to the house, splashing through the puddles. Which had apparently only served to get him more energized and thoroughly rained on. He had headed up to his and Sam’s room to change clothes only to remember that, oh yeah, his paint clothes were the last ‘clean’ clothes he had had left. He peeled his wet socks off, left his feet momentarily bare to prevent further pruning, tossed all of his clothes into his hamper, and headed down to the basement, buck ass naked, to finally do his laundry. Ah, the perks of your housemates all being out for the day.

Sometime between switching his clothes from the washer to the dryer, Steve’s feet had begun to feel a little too cold for comfort. Just because the rest of him ran warm, didn’t mean his feet did. (In fact, Sam forbade him from going sockless in bed because of his cold feet.) So he paused Mario Kart, sprinted back upstairs to put on a pair of socks, the only clean clothes he had that weren’t in the dryer, and sprinted back down to continue racing. And promptly forgot that he was wearing socks. Warm feet, out of mind, or however that old saying goes. When the dryer buzzed to let him know his laundry was finally done, he sprinted to the basement stairs, and, taking them three at a time, launched himself down to collect his clothes.

And promptly spun out. As soon as his besocked foot hit the smooth concrete basement floor, friction ceased to be a thing. His momentum carried him forward, sliding across the floor, to land hard on his back. Steve lay on the floor, groaning, for an indeterminate amount of time, regretting his thoughtless excitement about being able to get his clothes, fresh and hot, out of the dryer. That was the only part of laundry day that he didn’t hate. Maybe, if he could roll over, he could manage to crawl over to the dryer and pull out at least a pair of underwear. He attempted to roll; his injured shoulder complained loudly, pain spiking again. He lay back flat again. Maybe the cool concrete would ice his shoulder into submission if he lay there long enough. He closed his eyes and tried to relax, to will the pain away.

\-----------------

Next thing Steve knew, he was opening his eyes to fingers on his neck checking his pulse and a concerned face as his boyfriend knelt over him.

“Oh, hey, Sam,” Steve said with a weak laugh. “What time is it? How long have I been asleep?”

“Were you actually asleep or did you get knocked out?” Sam asked quickly.

“Just sleeping, I promise,” Steve replied, trying to assure Sam that he was ok. Or, at least slightly more ok than he would be if he had knocked himself out with his little stunt.

“What happened? Did you hit your head? Do I need to take you to urgent care?” Sam asked, helping ease Steve into a sitting position.

“Head, no, shoulder, yes. I, uh, forgot the ‘no socks’ rule and ate floor because I was coming down the stairs too fast. I’m still sore, but I think I might hurt a little less,” Steve said, gripping Sam’s wrist as the pain flared back to life as he sat up. “And don’t worry, my skull’s as thick as it’s always been.”

“Well, you’re still making jokes, so that’s a good sign, right?” Sam said, managing a half laugh.

“Don’t worry, I’m not dying on you, Sam,” Steve replied with a grin that turned into a grimace. “…But urgent care wouldn’t be a bad idea. Do you think you could help me get some clothes out of the dryer? I don’t think they’d appreciate if I showed up in only my socks.”

“They probably wouldn’t,” Sam laughed. “And yeah, I can do that for you.”

**Author's Note:**

> Is my SamSteve muse actually returning? Gosh I hope so.


End file.
